


Babyproof the Bunker

by Flufflybunnypants



Series: Ruffled Feathers [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, nasty spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flufflybunnypants/pseuds/Flufflybunnypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is set in the first few months of them getting Cas and the Bunker is definitely not ready for a small angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babyproof the Bunker

They’ve adapted the Bunker greatly, sometimes for convenience, sometimes out of necessity. The high chair, the stepstool in front of the bathroom sink, and the little table in the library are just helpful additions. The red tape on the doors? Terrifyingly necessary.

Even now, they don’t know what is in every room and when Cas came to them, months ago, they knew even less.

It has been a long time since Dean has been responsible for a kid, and Sam is basically starting from scratch. Cas is a pretty good kid, but his curse complicates their lives in ways even the Apocalypse hadn’t. They still have to answer phones and do research. They’re also trying to catalogue the Bunker room by room. Dean prefers cataloguing the cars or the weapons to sifting through books that literally fall apart in his hands.

Cas has been sitting on the floor of a storeroom, quietly coloring with a small handful of crayons. Dean’s occupied with moving an electrum idol to a new curse box. The Men of Letters had imperfect containment to begin with and many containers have not survived the passage of time. Using his knife, he carves the protection symbols more deeply. He’s sheathing his knife when he hears the yell that makes his blood run cold. He and Sam almost slam into each other as they sprint around the shelves.

Cas’ mouth is locked open in an airless scream and the dark box in his hands has wrapped red tendrils of magic around his forearms tightly.

Dean grabs Cas and practically claws at Cas’ arms, trying to get a grip on the magic which has embedded its hooks in Cas. At the same time, Sam heedlessly takes hold of the ebony box and wrenches it out of Cas’ grip. Dean feels the tug as Sam pulls and winces sympathetically as Cas’ clenched hands are ripped from the box.

As soon as the connection is broken, Cas passes out, his head lolling against Dean’s shoulder. The soft skin on his arms is marred by puckering burns, red blisters growing before their eyes.

Dean cradles Cas in his arms as he runs to the nearest sink. He dumps Cas in the bathroom sink, letting cold water flow over him, down the small arms and hands into Cas’ lap.

Sam is at his side in a moment with the faithful first aid tin. They work in tandem, dabbing Cas’ arms dry, slathering on salve, and wrapping them in gauze.

“Should we take him to the hospital?” Sam’s shoulders are set in a rigid line.

“We can’t, Sammy.”

“Why not?!”

 We can’t explain this and we can’t risk CPS being called. You know that. We can’t.”

“So what do we do?” Sam looks slightly mutinous.

“I’ll monitor him, you go figure out what’s in that damn box, and we hope he’s got enough angel left in him to heal quickly.” When Sam nods and stands to leave, Dean wearily adds, “Be careful, Sammy.”

Cas is still limply dripping in Dean’s lap. Dean carries him gingerly to Sam’s room and places Cas on the makeshift changing table. Cas really only needs diapers at night, but this table has been relegated for the task. He has to cut Cas’ t-shirt and he apologizes to Cas’ unconscious form. “Sorry, we gotta say goodbye to the t-rex, little buddy. I promise we’ll get you a new one.”

He wraps Cas’ diaper-clad body in a spare blanket. He strips out of his soaked shirt before gathering Cas to his chest. He’s terribly careful not to jostle Cas’ bandaged arms where they lie outside the swaddle.

In his own room, he lays Cas on the bed and braces him on each side with a pillow. Numbly cold, he sinks to the floor, his back to the bed.

He holds vigil at Cas’ side all night, silent as death. When Cas wakes with broken cries, Dean chokes back the urge to cry with him.

Sam comes in at around four am, his hulking silhouette blocking the light from the hall. Cas has been asleep for almost an hour at this point, so Dean steps into the hall to avoid waking him. Sam wait until Dean has shut the door behind himself to speak.

“I found their logbook.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “That box was specifically warded against angels. The upside is that we now know Cas has grace left in him. The downside is that if that spell left anything of itself in him, it’s going to keep attacking him.”

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing.”

“Like hell,” Dean starts.

“If he can fight this off, he will. Otherwise the spell will burn him to a husk.”

“So what the fuck do we do?!”

Sam knows the outrage is not really directed at him but it pisses him off anyway. “I’m going to rifle through the spell books and see if there’s a way to dig the spell out of him because there isn’t a cure. If the spell is gone and just the damage remains, he should heal. You monitor him. If you see black, green, or magical red on his arms, call me.”

Dean runs his hands through his hair, visibly trying to tamp down his anger. “Check the bone box in the library. I think that’s where they kept all the skeevy magic books.”

“The what?”

“You have to move the grey carpet up to get to the trapdoor. You haven’t found it?”

“Uh no. For that matter, how did you?” Sam looks deeply concerned.

“I was vacuuming. It’s fuckin’ dusty in there.”

“Of course you were.” Sam laughs a little hysterically. He turns and walks away, still shaking his head.

Dean goes back to watching over Cas. Every twelve hours, he changes the bandages and sends pictures to Sam. He makes a large batch of chicken broth and whenever Cas stirs slightly, he feeds him. Cas still has a swallowing reflex, which is good because Dean can keep him hydrated.

<<He looks ok

>>not ok enough

<<ALSO WE HAVE A FUCKING OSSUARY AND BLACK MAGIC ALTAR AND YOU DIDN’T THINK IT WAS WORTH MENTIONING?

>>you spend all your time in the library i figured you knew it was on top of freaky shit

<<UGH next time you find weird things tell me!

Dean spends three days of watching Cas’ unmoving body. Sam texted him that the nearly-comatose state was a good thing, but Dean grieves over Cas’ pale face and still form.

“What am I supposed to do, Cas? What the fuck do I do? You have to be ok, man, I can’t do this without you, please, Cas.” A half-sob hitches in his throat. “Cas, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I was ‘sposed to protect you and I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, Cas, but you gotta come back to me.”

He prays there in the oppressive darkness, promising anything if whatever higher power still cares will just make Cas okay again. He doesn’t leave the room, surviving on water bottles and power bars stashed in the nightstand.

On the fourth day, Sam muscles his way in and shoves Dean out the door, telling him as fondly as he can, “You reek, man. Go shower and grab something real to eat. I’ll watch over him.” Dean protests, but leaves.

When he comes back, looking human again, he makes shooing motions at Sam, who’s taken his spot on the floor. “I got this, Sam, you don’t have to be here.”

“You say that like I don’t want to be here, Dean,” Sam says, the hall light that throwing his face into sharp relief.

“Do you?” He phrases it like a question, but it comes out like an accusation.

“You act like you’re the only one who got hurt here, Dean! Like I haven’t been just as much a parent to him? You think I don’t want to be here and make sure he’s okay?”

“Haven’t been here the past three days,” Dean mutters, cool as a cucumber as he settles down next to Sam on the floor.

Sam punches his shoulder hard. “You son of a bitch. I’ve been working my ass off to try and save him! I haven’t slept in three fucking days, Dean. You think you love him more? You think I’m not good enough to care about him?”

Dean shoves him back. “Fuck you!”

They roll on the floor, wrestling like children. Sam gets Dean on his back, jabbing an elbow into his gut. Dean gasps like a dying fish, winded, as Sam’s grip gentles.

“You’re not the only one trying to fix him, Dean. Could you please stop playing the fuckin martyr and recognize that we’re a goddamn family? If you don’t let me take a shift and watch him, you’re gonna starve to death before he gets better.”

Dean closes his eyes in defeat. Sam shoves at his chest one more time before getting off of him and settling back down in his spot by the bed, shoulders in a tense line. Dean heaves himself up and sits down next to Sam, brushing his shoulder against Sam in the traditional Winchester apology.

“I’ll wake you in six hours, Sam. If you haven’t slept, you’re no good as a watchman.” _I’m sorry_ , he means. _Thanks for being at my side._

“You better. ‘therwise I’ll kick your ass.” _You’re not alone,_ Sam silently promises, leaning his head back against the soft comforter and closing his eyes.

Cas wakes every now and then, enough to drink whatever they put at his lips, but he doesn’t open his eyes or move his limbs. Sam flinches every time Cas makes a pitiful noise.

Six days later, Dean’s wrapping Cas’ arms again when he notices something. “Hey, Sammy, take a look at this.”

“What?!” Sam leaps up and looks alarmed.

“It looks faded right?” Dean fishes out his phone to find a picture he took in the early days so he could gauge the healing process. He holds it up next to Cas’ arm, under the soft light of the bedside lamp.

Sam’s a little more cautious, but he nods slowly. “I think so. If it continues in that direction, that’s good, but we’re not out of the woods yet.”

Of course, that’s when things go fucking sideways. Sam’s reading a book on the floor while Dean sharpens his favourite knife. Cas bursts into tears and starts thrashing on the bed. They both jump up and go to him, terrified of what they’ll find.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dean asks the question, frantically unwrapping Cas from the blankets.

“I don’t know! Check his arms.” Cas’ eyes are shut but he’s crying out and shaking.

“Oh fuck, Jesus, what the fuck is that,” Dean chokes out, recoiling when the bandages come free of Cas’ arm.

Sam just stares, gaping at the disgusting sight before him. It looks like lilac glass shoving through Cas’ skin, pale crystalline forms bloodlessly expelled from distorted skin. Dean grits his teeth and tugs on the nearest crystal and then swallows convulsively as it pops free. There’s a spot of blood, a spill of grace, and then the wound is healed.

“Aw, fuck,” Dean groans.

“So we…uh…just gotta…” Sam tugs tentatively at a crystal, shuddering at the resistance he feels. “It’s probably better than this shit being in him?”

They work as fast as they can, inured to horror after years on the job.

They’re halfway through when Dean breaks the silence, reminiscing. “This is like that time in Waco where I had to pick gravel out of your ass.”

“One, no. Two, don’t start with me. I pulled poisonous barbs out of your stomach, got dripped on by their acid slime, and let your dumb ass throw up on me after you went and flirted with that witch in fucking Pleasantville and this is still worse.”

Dean frowns but continues working. Sam is ready to hurl by the time they finish and rewrap Cas’ arms; Cas on the other hand seems to be sleeping more deeply when they’re done. Sam puts the crystal shards in an iron box and leaves it in the library so he can research the phenomenon later.

The next night, when Cas wakes with a soft whine, Sam’s the only one in the room. He picks up Cas as gently as he can and is shocked to see Cas’ eyes slide open. It’s brief, but there’s a hint of recognition before Cas closes his eyes again with exhaustion. “Hey, Cas. Oh god it’s good to see those pretty eyes. C’mon kiddo, just a few sips of this and then I’ll stop bothering you. I know, I know,” he says soothingly when Cas frowns lightly. “It’s no fun, huh? Just drink a little and I’ll let you get back to sleep. There you go.”

Cas drinks a little more than usual, but his mouth slowly goes slack as he fades back into unconsciousness, dribbling liquid down his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt.

Sam wipes him down and settles him back into his blanket nest. Then he goes to find his brother, a real smile blossoming on his face.

Dean’s in the bathroom, the shower audible through the door. Sam bangs on the door and hears Dean shut the shower off. “Sammy?”

“It’s fine Dean, but he opened his eyes!” Sam practically bellows with excitement.

The shower comes back on, but its off again in a minute. Dean barges out, dripping wet with a towel around his waist. “He opened his eyes?”

“Yeah, I mean it was brief, but he was there, like really there.”

Dean sags against the doorway, wiping a hand over his face. “Fuck. Thank god.”

“Yeah I think—I think this is good.”

“Alright, lemme finish up here and then I’ll take over.”

It’s very slow progress from there, but each time Cas opens his eyes and looks at them, they heave a sigh of relief.

When he rolls over onto his stomach on his own, they know things are going to be okay. The magic and the subsequent illness left him weakened, but don’t seem to have permanently damaged him.

He tires a little more easily, but he’s speaking again and walking a little. ‘Up’ has become his favorite word and neither brother could--even for a second--deny him that.

Dean’s got him balanced on one hip as he points out the red tape Sam is installing all over the Bunker. “You see that, Cas?”

Cas nods and continues to suck on his fingers.

“You can’t go past the red tape, okay?” He grabs Cas arm and flips it over, pointing at the places where the scars are quickly fading. “Ouchies happen if you go there.” Cas’ lower lip wobbles and he shoves his face into Dean’s shoulder. “I know, little buddy, but you gotta tell me you won’t go in there. Can you promise not to go near the red tape?”

Cas nods, but doesn’t look up. Dean uses one fingertip to lift Cas’ chin and looks the tiny angel in the eyes.

“Red tape means no. Do you understand?”

“Tape bad,” Cas garbles, still trying to suck on his own fingers.

“That’s right. Now how about we see if there’s any more popsicles in the freezer? I think it’s snack time.”

“Pop!”

“Yeah, that’s right. We’ll get you nice and sticky before bathtime.” It might be a little evil, but Dean knows Sam doesn’t actually mind making Cas less adhesive at the end of the day. Plus, Cas is getting better at keeping the popsicle in his mouth instead of his hair. Or Dean’s hair. Or really anything that shouldn’t be orange and sticky.

Cas eyes the tape warily as they walk away and Dean can’t even feel bad about that. He cannot go through an episode like that again. He’s going to keep Cas safe, against all odds, because this is his angel.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know if there's any spelling or grammatical errors. I won't be posting any more baby Cas for a while because the next month is filled with moving and work and all kinds of crazy.
> 
> I have made this a series though, wherein non fluffy pieces will be posted outside of the main work.


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